


Nine Thirty Five on a Friday Night

by wreathed



Category: British Comedy RPF, Peep Show
Genre: Awkwardness, Crossover, Doppelganger, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fourth Wall, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Porn Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-23
Updated: 2010-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-22 17:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: David Mitchell/Mark Corrigan. Need I say more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nine Thirty Five on a Friday Night

It’s nine thirty five on a Friday night. It’s nine thirty five on a Friday night, and every single person Mark knows is having fun somewhere or other, and he isn’t.

It’s nine thirty five on a Friday night and, if asked, Mark is categorically _not_ sitting in Jeremy’s bedroom, logging onto Jeremy’s computer under Jeremy’s username with Jeremy’s password and going through his internet history. Serves him right for never bothering to use private browsing.

Aghast at the video descriptions for some of Jeremy’s _Pornhub_ favourites, Mark nonetheless clicks through to one of the ones Jeremy’s most recently watched. The smiling American girl looks like no-one he knows; it’s just sex, contextless and soulless and no thought required, and it’s so _easy_ to get turned on. So easy to rub himself through his trousers, breathing hard, before unzipping his flies and-

There is a polite knock at the flat’s front door.

 _Jeremy,_ Mark thinks wildly just as the woman kneeling on the screen in front of him gags again and, despite the interruption, he feels another wave of pleasure rush through him. After taking his hand off his cock and slamming the laptop shut, Mark checks himself. Jeremy wouldn’t get back from a party before ten. Besides, why would Jeremy knock? Unfortunately, and despite his distinct lack of recent rent payments, this is his flat too.

Annoyed, Mark does up his trousers, clears his throat (like that’ll help somehow) and gets up. Pausing by his own room for a moment, he grabs his copy of _Mastering Financial Mathematics in Microsoft Excel_ and holds it with a casual air in front of his crotch. It’s going to be a lot harder to hide his flushed face from view. Perhaps he’ll just look embarrassed.

“Hello,” says the person staring right at him when he opens the door, and Mark feels his mouth fall open.

 _Do I have a secret identical twin dad never told me about because he managed to get him adopted by a happier, richer family?_ Mark wonders. _Because that is_ exactly _the sort of thing he would do._

“Can I come in?” the man says.

“Of course,” Mark mutters, and lets him do so. Regrettably, his arousal doesn’t seem to be disappearing as quickly as it should be, although the shock of it all does mean his thoughts have entirely diverted to his guest – appearance and mannerisms just like his.

“So. Sorry. Who are you?” Mark asks, as the he sinks into the sofa (his back stiffly upright; he crosses his legs) and the man remains nervously standing, looking around the sitting room with what Mark considers to be an indecently morbid curiosity.

“David,” the man says. “My name’s David. “I sort of found myself near here, and then I saw the building and...it’s rather difficult to explain.” Then he looks right at Mark’s still-flushed face – into his eyes for a brief moment, before looking uncomfortably away – and does a understated double take. “I’m not, er, _interrupting_ something, am I?”

“No! No, there’s no-one else here. Jeremy’s – my flatmate’s – out. And there’s definitely no-one else here.”

David, joining him on the sofa, spends several moments looking at him curiously.

“Am I related to you?” Mark blurts out suddenly.

“No,” David says with quiet authority. “Definitely not.” He pauses. “No-one is going to believe you if you tell them about this. So, logically, no-one’s ever going to find out about this.”

“Well...no,” Mark says slowly, wondering so many things but above all feeling strangely confident that he knew exactly what David was about to do next.

“So, I could just...look, promise me you’ll keep your eyes closed, OK?” he says, then leans forward and kisses him, his hand far from firmly but most definitely _on_ Mark’s thigh. Mark feels himself flush hot, and a rush that runs through his brain renders him unthinking for an instant; he kisses back, consumed, as he suddenly finds himself hard. It’s always the fucked-up things that feel most right.

 _This definitely still counts as sex with another human being,_ Mark thinks, his eyes tightly shut as he tries not to focus on the way that David’s chapped lips are identical to his own, _but with all the comforting benefits of masturbation. No future fall-out. Easier to get right._


End file.
